


The one where Steve and Bucky reconnect

by chicklette



Series: Popcorn Bucket [6]
Category: Captain America (Movies), Captain America - All Media Types
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Alternate Universe - Modern: No Powers, Artist!Steve, M/M, Originally Posted on Tumblr, Veteran!Bucky
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-12-03
Updated: 2017-12-03
Packaged: 2019-02-09 22:26:06
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,873
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12898116
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/chicklette/pseuds/chicklette
Summary: Me to Kat: I really want a fic where Steve and Bucky date while Steve is smol, then they break up, and then reconnect when Steve is big, but Bucky doesn't know he's big, and Steve loves that because he's 100% over people liking him for his new looks.Kat: And you're not writing this why?Me:  *grumble.* fine.





	The one where Steve and Bucky reconnect

“Hell.” Bucky closes his eyes and leans against the cool window of the cab.  It’s raining, a soft, steady stream, and Bucky cracks the window, letting a draft of fresh air in.  Breathing deep, he runs a hand across his face before flicking his phone on.  He navigates past the lock screen and opens up Facebook.  

Shaking his head at himself, he closes the app before opening it again.  Steve’s status update says “Big Day!” with a nervous emoji next to it.

“You’re tellin’ me, pal,” Bucky says, then closes the app again.

Six months earlier, he’d been at Nat and Sam’s housewarming, drinking their mediocre beer and eating Sam’s amazing Mac & Cheese balls, when he’d found himself drawn to the painting that dominated the living room.  He knew it was the Brooklyn Bridge – that was a shape that was seared onto his heart – but the colors surrounding it – bold, dark reds bleeding into yellows and greens, blues so dark they could be black, but weren’t – it was mesmerizing.

After a few minutes, Nat came to stand next to him.  

“Gorgeous, isn’t it?”

“Yeah.  Where’d you find it?”

“It was a gift,” she said, her husky voice light.  “Sam’s old roommate from Grad School.”

“A gift?” Bucky said. “Jesus, Nat, that’s –“

“Beautiful,” Sam said, looking right at Nat.  

It was disgusting how much in love she and Sam were, and if Bucky didn’t love them both so much, he’d hate them.

“Who’s the artist?” Bucky asked.  “I might be in the market.”

“Rogers,” Sam said, and Bucky’s whole world stilled.  “Steven Grant Rogers.”

He’d left shortly after that, too shaken to stay and make nice.

It took Bucky all of twenty minutes to find Steve’s Facebook page.  There was scant personal information.  It was mostly photographs from around New York (mostly Brooklyn, but Bucky recognized a few from Central Park, and some from what looked like somewhere upstate), and Steve’s art.  

God, no wonder he’d been drawn to that painting.  He’d spent nine months of his life living with Steve – falling asleep with the smell of turpentine in his nose, waking at three in the morning to find Steve’s slim frame laboring over a canvas taller than he was, waiting as Steve combed supply shops, looking for the perfect shade of blue.  “I can’t quite get it right,” Steve would say, when Bucky asked why he didn’t just mix his own.  “Well what color is it?” Bucky’d ask, and Steve would clam up.  Artists.

It was took years after they broke up for Bucky to finally stop ducking into every art supply shop that he passed, looking for the mysterious shade of blue.  He never did find out what the color was, or why Steve needed it.

He’d met Steve his first year at college.  He’d been drawn the small, dynamic man who didn’t seem to know when to back down.  A guy about Bucky’s size was taking a swing at Steve, and Bucky’d shown up just in time to clock the guy, kicking him in the ass and sending him sprawling.  He held his hand out to Steve, who struggled to his feet on his own, sneering at Bucky’s outreached hand.  

“I had him on the ropes,” Steve said, and Bucky was smitten.

“Yeah, I know,” Bucky said. “But that chump had it coming.  I couldn’t resist.”

Steve offered Bucky a tentative smile, and then his hand.  He smiled up at Bucky with big blue eyes and Bucky was a goner.  

They’d fallen into bed within a week, and were living together just a few months later.  Steve wasn’t flush for cash, and neither was Bucky, but Steve’s scholarship paid for a studio apartment, and the pair had become inseparable. It was idyllic.

Bucky woke most mornings to Steve sleeping beside him, his small frame curled into Bucky, face soft with sleep.  When he got home, they’d make stir fry or pasta, or Bucky’s favorite, bean and cheese quesadillas, and then spend the evening studying together, hands idly stroking the other’s skin, until it got too much and they were tearing each other’s clothes off.

The way Steve kissed – god. Bucky’d never had anything like it, before or since.  It was like he kissed with his whole body – hands and arms and legs, wrapping himself around Bucky and all Bucky wanted was more.  It was perfect.

Until, that is, Bucky’s money ran out.

He’d worked every summer since he was 15, and was working two jobs while in school, but even with Work Study and a few small scholarships, Bucky was still going to have to come up with better than fifteen grand for his next year’s tuition.  Steve had offered to let Bucky stay with him for free, but that didn’t solve the matter of tuition

“You could take out loans,” Steve offered.  They rarely talked about money together, other than to bemoan the fact that they never quite had enough.

“I can’t,” Bucky said. Getting into debt was selling off your future to the lowest bidder, that what Bucky’s Pop always said, and Bucky believed him.  If he started taking out loans now, he’d graduate so deep in debt that his life wouldn’t be his own until he was nearly forty.  He couldn’t do it.  Not to himself, and certainly not to Steve.

When he graduated, he needed to be able to take care of Steve.  Needed to be able to support him, so that he could make art without having to work shitty side jobs that sapped his creativity.  It’s what Steve deserved.

It seemed like the recruiter on campus had the answers to all of Bucky’s problems.  He could give Uncle Sam four years of his life, live cheap as sin on the government’s dime, and when he was out, he’d have enough to support Steve and finish his own degree.

It maybe wasn’t ideal, but it was the best solution he could find.

Bucky signed the papers and went home to talk to Steve.  

Steve had been furious, and by the time Bucky reported to boot camp, he was minus a whole lot of hair, most of his worldly possessions and one boyfriend.

It hadn’t gotten him down too much.  He knew it was a matter of time before Steve forgave him.  

He hadn’t counted on the IED that took out most of his squad, left him with screaming, sweating nightmares and an arm that only worked most of the time.

By the time Bucky’d gotten his discharge and worked through his physical and mental therapy (okay, that last one was ongoing), Steven Grant Rogers was nothing more than a warm memory that Bucky didn’t let himself indulge in too often.  

And then there was Sam and Nat’s party, and the painting.  Bucky found himself sending Steve a friend request, which was accepted only minutes later.  It didn’t take long before Steve hit Bucky up on Messenger, and the two had been talking regularly since.

And now here he is, in a taxi, on his way to some (undoubtedly hipster) coffee shop in Brooklyn, to see Steve Rogers for the first time in a decade.  He’s not kidding himself.  He knows that whatever it was that he and Steve had was firmly buried in the past.

Bucky’s not the guy he was back then.  When he met Steve, he’d been going to school to become a civil engineer.  By the time he got out of the Army though, all that changed.  Bucky didn’t do well in crowds, hated being cooped up for too long, and the idea of sitting at a desk for eight hours a day made him want to blow his brains out.  

He’d gotten two things out of Walter Reed Hospital:  a new best friend in the form of Natasha Romanoff, and a lifeline to the world in the form of a laptop computer.  Nat was a recuperating soldier like he was.  She’d been captured and held by the enemy for some time before she’d been rescued. She didn’t talk about it often and Bucky didn’t pry.  Often though, she’d sit beside him while Bucky’d gone from navigating the web to learning how computers worked.  By the time he was discharged, he’d become something of an expert in cyber security.

Now, he designs secure websites for small businesses, and spends the occasional afternoon lecturing high-school kids on the importance of online safety.  It’s a good living, and Bucky makes enough to not worry so much about money.  His future is his own.

He could have hunted up a dozen photos or more of Steve by now (along with his credit score, full financial details and probably the name of his mother’s maiden aunt), but he’d chosen to respect Steve’s privacy.  Besides, as much as Bucky wanted to know how Steve had grown in the years they’d been apart, he didn’t want to do anything that would upset the friendship that had bloomed between them in the last few months.

When he gets to the coffee shop, he looks around, but doesn’t spot anyone who looks like Steve.  

Shrugging, he orders himself an Americano and takes a seat by the window.  He pulls up Messenger to let Steve know he’s arrived, when a hulking presence draws his attention.  

“Seat’s taken,” Bucky says, not looking up from his phone.

“Buck?”

Startled, Bucky looks up…and up…and up.

“Steve?”

If Steve’s warm laugh wasn’t exactly the same, Bucky wouldn’t have believed it was him.

“What the hell happened to you?” Bucky asks, standing.  He relieved to notice that Steve’s only got about an inch on him, but holy hell, what happened?

Steve laughs again, then leans in, pulling Bucky in for a hug.  “You look great,” Steve says, and oh, God, why does he have to smell so good?

“You look taller,” Bucky says, his own laugh bubbling up.

Steve sets a cup down on the table then sits opposite Bucky, and Bucky takes him in.  The blonde hair is a little darker than it was before, but his eyes – those perfect, dark blue eyes, they’re exactly the same.

And that blush!  Bucky remembers that blush, and that bashful bat of long lashes as he looks away.

“Seriously,” Bucky says. “Tell me this wasn’t just eating your Wheaties.”

Steve breaks into another full grin, and yeah, there’s that same smile.

“It wasn’t just Wheaties,” Steve confirms.  “I got really sick, about six months after you left.  It was…pretty touch and go for a while,” he says, and Bucky’s blood runs cold.  While Bucky was in recovery, and all the years after, he’d never imagined Steve as anything other than happy.  He’d pictured Steve married to a woman, with two little girls and a thriving art career.  He’d pictured Steve married to a man, the two of them taking their golden retrievers out for long walks in central park, a bright red scarf around Steve’s neck, his older, taller husband doting on him.

The idea occurs to him for the first time that Steve might have been gravely ill, might have died, and Bucky wouldn’t have known.  It sends a shiver down his spine.

“Go on,” Bucky musters.

“I ended up in a program – it was kind of a last ditch effort to save my heart – and the side effect was this,” he says, looking down at himself.  “I did about five years of growing in about a year.  It was crazy – I just remember everything hurt and I was starving, constantly.  By the time it was over though, my heart was healed, my lungs were clear, and I ended up with the metabolism of a hummingbird.”  Steve shrugs.  “I thought about telling you…”

“But the idea of seeing me speechless for once meant you didn’t,” Bucky finished.  Back when they were together, Bucky was a charmer. Still could be, but it wasn’t the same.

“So,” Bucky says.  “Did you ever get married? Have kids?  Catch me up.”

And like that, they start talking, and it’s like no time passed at all.

Bucky’s a little sad to hear that Steve never married or had kids.  He’d always pictured Steve as family man.  Maybe it’s because that’s what he’d always wanted for himself.  A couple of kids, a couple of dogs, and a surly cat named Cujo.  

Instead, Steve had finished his art degree, then gone to grad school, where he met Sam.  Bucky’s since learned that Sam and Steve were inseparable until Nat came along.

“I’ve never seen him like that about anyone before,” Steve confides, and Bucky agrees.  Nat’s strong, and beautiful, and intimidating as hell.  Not just anyone could attract her interest, and it takes someone really special to keep it. Bucky confides as much and he Steve laugh how mushy the two of them can be when they think no one’s looking.

Bucky can’t deny the kernel of hope that blooms when he realizes that Steve is well and truly single.

“Don’t get me wrong,” Steve says with a shrug.  “I’d love to be with someone.  Just…has to be the right someone, you know?”

And yeah, Bucky knows.

He’s had a few relationships over the years, a couple of friends with benefits and two men that he’d tried to make something more with, but for one reason or another, it never really worked out.  His sister, Becca, was egging him on to find someone, but like Bucky always told her, when it’s right, it’s right, and you can’t make it be if it’s not.

Bucky and Steve finish their coffees, get seconds and when Bucky reaches the end of his third cup, he sets it down with a start.

“Geez,” he says.  “I think if we don’t get out of here soon, they’re gonna start charging us rent.”

Steve looks up and takes a long look outside.  The rain’s stopped, and twilight is creeping in, painting the wet streets in golds and reds.

“It’s beautiful,” Steve says, and digs out his phone, snapping a couple of pictures.  “Sorry,” he says, looking up at Bucky and flushing. “Habit.”

“All good,” Bucky says. “Did you get what you need?”

Steve nods, and the pair of them stand.

“I guess,” Steve starts.

“Yeah,” Bucky says. He’s getting ready to offer his hand but every single part of him is screaming to stay. Not to let it end.

“Do you want -” he starts.

“Do you think –“ Steve says.

The pair of them laugh, and Bucky gestures to Steve to go on.

“Would you want to get dinner?” Steve asks.  It’s nowhere near late enough for dinner, but Bucky smiles.  

“I make a mean Alfredo,” Bucky says, and Steve grins.  

“Don’t lie to me, Barnes, we both know you burn water.”

“Hey!  I will have you know I am one hell of a cook.  You don’t know me as well as you think you do,” Bucky says.

Steve’s face softens all over and the way he’s looking at Bucky makes Bucky want to stand a little taller, try a little harder.  Anything to keep that look on Steve’s face.

“I don’t,” Steve says. “But I would really, really like to.”

He holds out his hand. It’s big and square, and Bucky can see paint around his cuticles.

“Same, pal,” Bucky says, and folds his hand into Steve’s.

They put on their coats and leave, Bucky with one hand folding into Steve’s and the other in his pocket.

“Oh!” he says, his fingers closing around a small metal tube.  “I, uh, God,” he says, suddenly feeling very awkward.  “I saw this the other day and thought of you,” he says, pulling the tube of oil paint from his pocket and putting it in Steve’s upturned hand.

“I’m sure you found what you were looking for by now, but…” Bucky shrugs, watching as Steve stares at the tube of paint.

“You always said you were looking for the right color,” Bucky explains.  “I’m sure you’ve moved on by now, but I just…”

Steve closes his hand around the tube and looks into Bucky’s eyes.

“Bucky,” he breathes, and tugs on Bucky’s hand until they’re standing chest to chest.  He unlaces their fingers and reaches up, cupping Bucky’s jaw with his warm hand.

Bucky’s heart is beating triple-time in his chest.  It’s all he can do not to audibly gulp.

And then Steve is kissing him, a warm, soft brush of lips, and then one of them is sighing, and then the world stops, and Bucky opens his eyes to see Steve looking back at him.  

“Been wanting to do that all day,” Bucky says.

“For weeks,” Steve says, and Bucky grins.  

“Yeah, pal,” he says. “For weeks.”

As they leave the shop, Bucky laces their fingers back together.  “You never said,” he says, stepping onto the wet sidewalk.  “Did you ever figure out that color you were looking for?  You know, back when we were dating?”

Steve flushes and ducks his head, and it’s so adorable that Bucky tightens his grip on Steve’s fingers.

“Nah,” Steve says, looking down at his feet.  “Lost my reference.”

Bucky’s heart stills for a moment.

“Good thing I found it again,” Steve says, and Bucky smiles until his face hurts.

Good thing, indeed.  

 

**Author's Note:**

> Unbeta'd and originally posted to tumblr. I cleaned it up a little but feel free to point out mistakes.


End file.
